Riding Filthy Read online

  Ruiners Motorcycle Club

  by Abriella Blake

  A Hearts Collective Production

  Copyright © 2014 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

  Also From Abriella Blake:

  Riding Dirty (Ruiners Motorcycle Club) by Abriella Blake

  Other Books by Hearts Collective:

  Impossibly (Dante’s Nine MC) by Colleen Masters

  Imperfectly (Dante’s Nine MC) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Harder (Take Me... #1) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Deeper (Take Me... #2) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Longer (Take Me... #3) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Hotter (Take Me...#4) by Colleen Masters

  Crushing Beauty (Harbingers of Sorrow MC) by Celia Loren

  Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC) by Celia Loren

  Wrecking Beauty (Devils Reapers MC) by Celia Loren

  DEDICATION

  I'd like to dedicate this book to all the awesome readers :)

  RIDING FILTHY

  Ruiners Motorcycle Club

  by Abriella Blake

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  July.

  Heat.

  Celestina Auditore was aware of the heavy heat cramming it’s way into her eyes, scorching her skin, and radiating between her legs where the soft skin of her thighs met. Her black bikini was almost too much clothing for the rising temperature. Her body craved freedom and escape.

  She was sunbathing on the massive lower deck of her family’s 282-foot yacht, the Giulietta, draped like a sun-worshipping pagan sacrifice on the ledge near the helm. They were anchored not far from Alice Town on North Bimini Island in the Bahamas. If she squinted she could see the white docks and bright turquoise shallows on the island’s edge, but the only sound was the lapping of the waves and the whisper of the breeze.

  Salt spray stirred up from the turquoise waters by the lazy afternoon wind was her only reprieve from the humidity. The heat spilled down her back and between her breasts in droplets of clean sweat, a product of the sunlight and anticipation.

  A door slammed, a wave of new energy jolting her from her stillness. Celestina opened an eyelid a crack and felt her internal thermometer burst; leaning against the doorframe with sensual grace was a caramel-skinned vortex of trouble.

  Tattoos mapped out his scarred, muscular body: Mexican tribal patterns, dia de los muertos skulls, chains. On one forearm was inked a vivid sacred heart with a crown of thorns, on the other a curvy dark haired pinup siren that looked an awful lot like Celestina, straddling a Harley over a backdrop of flames.

  Celestina could see the lines of all his muscles, poised like a panther ready to spring, and felt her mouth water involuntarily. As if he could sense her thoughts, his dark eyes arrested on her, sweltering with curiosity and promise. She felt his gaze like a physical caress as it wandered slowly over her face and down her burning body.

  A quirk of a cocky grin flashed over one corner of his mouth, a dimple appearing in his cheek. His white smile in the contrast of golden sunlight made his stormy, handsome face appear almost boyish for an instant, eager and mischievous. Celestina felt she was getting a glimpse of his private self, something reserved for a select trusted few.

  “There you are,” he husked. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You think you can hide?”

  He walked towards her, his stride efficient and powerful. As the distance between them closed, his burning eyes made Celestina’s insides twist with desire. It was too easy for him. He hadn’t even touched her, and she was already practically drooling.

  “You can run from me,” he teased, “But you can’t hide.”

  “I wasn’t running from you,” she replied, shifting to her back.

  “I’ll always find you, baby.”

  His grin widened. Reaching down with calloused fingers, he ran his hand through Celestina’s hair, down the curve of her cheek, and along her collarbone. Her nerves were tingling by the time his hand traced the swell of her breast. Playfully, he swirled his fingers around her nipple, aching to escape the thin fabric of her bikini. Powerless to control her body’s response, Celestina felt a line of fire ignite and rage throughout her core—her arousal fast and full.

  “Wait,” she murmured, straining to sit up.

  He shoved her back down, leaving his other arm in place to hold her still.

  “No more waiting,” he said. “I want you.”

  His hand traveled further south and traced along the outline of her bikini bottom, tugging maddeningly at the elastic.

  “I’ve been waiting too long for you,” he whispered. “All my life.”

  Celestina’s heart fluttered as he bent down to kiss her. His body caged her in, overwhelming her senses, making her feel alive, vulnerable. With a thrill, Celestina realized his arms could easily crush her if he wanted. He could destroy her, in more ways than one…he was a killing machine, after all.

  He let his weight down on top of her and with a sharp intake of breath she felt his rock-solid erection pressing against her. Wow. He was so hard, so fast. Without even realizing it, she rocked her hips to meet his, seeking the danger. He was like a fast-acting drug. Her kiss on his lips deepened. She wanted him badly, wanted his possession and wanted to be possessed.

  She was already wet with wanting him, her teeth aching impatiently. She let her tongue and hips tell him. Her nails bit into the skin of his brawny back and he gasped.

  “No more waiting quierida,” he said. “It’s my turn, now that I have you.”

  She felt his hand close around her neck and push her away. Breathless, she stared up at him, bereft at the distance until with a shock she felt him nudge her bikini to the side and thrust his throbbing cock into her pussy.

  “Ah!” She gasped.

  She felt him push all the way inside her, filling her completely, until he held his hips against hers and smirked lustily into her face, lips parted and teeth bared. Her body contracted in shock and pleasure, reverberating at the sudden shift of reality.

  “Yeah baby,” he said. “That’s a good girl. Too bad for you I am a bad boy.”

  Celestina thought she would explode with the heavy, hot pressure of his cock against her g-spot. She couldn’t squirm away for relief from the intensity. His hand on her throat was firm, holding her down but allowing her ragged breaths. She clutched his fingers with hers, desperately.

  “Oh, god!” She gasped.

  “You are mine,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she moaned, the lines blurring between pleasure and pain.

  He pulled himself out and smiled, leaning over to lightly brush her lips.

  “Mine, quierida,” he repeated, snatching her bottom lip lightly between his teeth and not letting go. He thrust his cock again, crushing her g-spot. She felt the head of his member seek her out and open her exquisitely slow, the shaft following at a simmering pace. His abs rubbed against her clit, each thrust sending waves of mind-numbing pleasure throughout her body. His closeness made her feel dizzy and drunk.

  When he couldn’t push his rod any further into her, he moved his
hips in a strong, slow circle. The new angles massaged Celestina’s g-spot, and she could feel the pressure of his pelvis against her clit.

  “Holy fuck,” she breathed.

  “Yes, feel that?”

  “Oh god!”

  “Yes, baby girl. Mi amor. So good.”

  He rolled faster, straining into her around and around. Between the merciless barrage of his cock and the sweltering sunlight, it wasn’t long before they were drenched in each other’s sweat. His free hand ripped off her bikini top and rubbed over her nipples until they were pert and upright.

  Smiling, he leaned back and watched her as he rolled his cock inside, pinching her nipples with his fingers and fondling her breasts until they were warm pleasure centers themselves, sending shockwaves tingling into her hips and thighs.

  “Fuck yes,” he groaned.

  She could see in his eyes how their pleasure matched, how she excited him, how powerful he felt. He drove his cock in and out, hammering her. The pace was rough and fast now, their passion flaming. Celestina licked her free fingers and reached them between her legs, rolling over her clit as he rode her hard. He watched her, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “So, so sexy,” he breathed. “Yes, baby. Come for me.”

  His cock rubbed along her inner walls, bombarding her. Her fingers over her clit made her entire body sizzle and burn with slow, radioactive heat that moved into her bone marrow and made her scream.

  “Yes!” Celestina roared.

  “Yeah baby girl, oh yes, oh god!”

  “Fuck! Yes! Baby! Oh!”

  “Oh, god, come for me! Good girl.”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Good girl! Yes!”

  He fucked her even harder, thrusting his fingers jealously into her mouth for her to suck as she came. Her body twitched and shuddered, the nuclear meltdown inside exploding into an orgasm that seized up the muscles in Celestina’s legs and stomach and arms. Her entire body was on fire, disintegrating. She realized she was holding her breath against the storm.

  “You like that baby girl?”

  He bashed his cock into her harder and harder, decimating her.

  “You like my cock?”

  “Oh, yes! YES!”

  “Oh god. I’m gonna come too.”

  His hand closed around the back of her head, his touch surprisingly tender. His cock was another story, slamming into her regardless of the searing burning sensations of overwhelming climax that had reduced her to a trembling mess in his arms. Shuddering, she felt more of her hot juicy fluids release as her pussy contracted possessively around his cock. She felt all of her blood rush to her head and had to wrap her arms around him for support. Regaining her senses, she looked up.

  “Fuck! Yes!” He moaned, his voice strained. “Oh fuck!”

  Veins stood out in his neck like cords and he threw his head back in reckless abandon, giving her a glorious view of his toned body in the throes of climax. His face was ecstatic, free, and dark. She felt him shudder and still inside her.

  “Oh, baby,” she murmured, kissing his chest. His arms tightened around her. They panted together, collapsing against the sun-baked deck of the ship, letting the waves rock them to sleep.

  “Mi amor,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You make an animal out of me.”

  “Didn’t take much.”

  He smacked her ass again. They chuckled. After a moment of silence, Celestina squinted up at him through the fog of orgasm.

  “I am glad I met you,” she murmured. “As fucked up as it was.”

  “It’s still fucked up, quierida.”

  Her head sank back down. “True.”

  “We are pretty fucked up ourselves.” He added.

  Her grin widened. “Truer.”

  But I love you anyway…almost as much as my bike.”

  She slapped him in mock consternation then snuggled up against him with a contented sigh.

  “A happy ending, for now.”

  Celestina’s lips curled in a grin. They had come a long way since their first meeting, only two months before. A lot had happened. Thinking of it, she frowned. She knew the world would be back to claim them soon. They were just two cogs in a massive machine.

  The happy ending was only a very small piece of the puzzle.

  Chapter One

  May.

  There may not be a happy ending…the happy ending was, perhaps, yet another desert mirage.

  Joey Auditore stepped out of his pearly white Cadillac and glared down the driveway at the meth lab in distaste. The cruel afternoon sun glinted off his pinky ring as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief. Carrying a handkerchief made him feel like Al Pacino in the Godfather and he didn’t give a rat’s ass if anyone ragged him about it. Besides, his allergies were killing him.

  In the shit show that had been his recent life in Las Vegas, Joey’s appearance was his only consolation. He looked every inch the mafia prince; from the tips of his gelled hair to the ironed crease of his white Calvin Klein suit pants. If the world was an oyster, he clearly thought himself the pearl.

  Joey’s shiny tan wingtips crackled over the dust as he began his reluctant walk towards the dilapidated house on D Street. The place was a dump: dingy, dirty and delinquent on revenue. He was there to kick some ass.

  Joey hated Las Vegas. The post-nasal drip was just the icing on the cake. The real problem was the bloody turf war between his family’s gang and the Ruiners Motorcycle Club. He was on thin ice with his big brother Cosmo, who blamed him for the recent financial losses and violent escalation with the Ruiners. As if that wasn’t enough, the Ruiners wanted them all dead and gone.

  He was a walking bulls-eye.

  Joey missed his old life in Miami. Everything had been beautiful and easy, like a woo girl on spring break. If Joey had his druthers, he’d be in a hammock in Miami or on a sailboat with a naked playmate rubbing oil on his skin. Miami was paradise.

  But Cosmo had decided to move the Audtiore clan to Las Vegas to rebuild the mafia Golden Age. Cosmo believed in destiny, and as the under-boss, Joey had to go along. They’d acquired a string of casinos as the perfect front for a new racketeering circuit. Cosmo was determined to establish himself as the one and only black market in town.

  “Las Vegas is ours,” Cosmo liked to say. “The street gangs are just an infestation. We’ll exterminate ‘em.”

  Easier said than done.

  The first thing they’d done in Vegas was stage a coup targeting rival gang leaders. But the bullet meant for Ruiners Motorcycle Club President Axle Derian missed. He survived. Cosmo and Joey hadn’t figured on that.

  After the assassination attempt on the Ruiners’ president failed, Joey and Cosmo’s imports of Chinese-made AK-47s started disappearing from their storage facilities. Cosmo traced the robbery to the Sergeant at Arms of the Ruiners Motorcycle Club, a local blue-collar boxer with a rap sheet. Bronson Ramsey.

  Out of practicality, the Auditores struck up a deal with the Ruiners; Bronson would earn them money as an MMA prizefighter, they’d turn a blind eye to any business going down in the outskirts of town, and the Ruiners would back off the Strip. Under the threat of war, Ruiners President Axle Derian agreed.

  But the truce was doomed to fail. The Ruiners MC couldn’t keep away from the Strip and ran a scam in the Auditore’s own casinos, right under their noses. They only discovered it when the Ruiners hustled Cosmo’s gun supplier, Charles Kang. Joey had been assigned with getting rid of Ramsey, but somehow the bastard escaped. Joey’s fuck-up cost the Auditores millions in bets and made the Ruiners rich.

  Now it was personal.

  Just thinking about the Ruiners made Joey’s blood boil. He smashed his foot into a scraggly dandelion.

  “Fucking Ruiners ruining shit,” he spat. Catching his driver’s curious eyes, Joey regained his composure. “You wait here. I’ll be twenty minutes, tops.”

  He hated his life right now, babysitting meth labs. Damn. How long until Cosmo forgave him?


  “We built this fucking place in our own image,” Cosmo had shouted this afternoon when Joey had been foolish enough to request a transfer back to Miami. “Our grandfather was here when they built the Flamingo in 1946, Joey! Our family was always part of it. Now is our chance to take Vegas back, reclaim the city. Don’t you forget who you belong to, Joey. Don’t forget!”

  As if he could.

  Joey grew up on his dad’s stories of Las Vegas in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, when the unions were in mob pockets and the rakes from gaming were beyond even their dirtiest dreams. The action! Oh, god, the action! Crime families formed an alliance as the Syndicate and ruled Las Vegas for decades of decadence.

  But nothing gold can stay. The Nevada legislature burst their bubble with the Corporate Gaming Act in 1967, giving big businesses a way to bypass mafia control and open their own gleaming new casinos. The unions slipped through their fingers.

  Then came fucking RICO—the Racketeer Influenced and Corruption Organizations Act. The feds could investigate any suspected gangster. It crippled the mob. How the hell are you supposed to piss with everybody looking at your dick?

  Joey could relate.

  Wall Street paved over Easy Street, simple as that. Big business transformed mafia paradise into a tourist trap. Toddlers at blackjack tables, pregnant women playing poker, Broadway musicals; now, looking around the Vegas strip, Joey felt like he might as well be in a fucking family fun park.

  “A Disneyland for degenerates,” Cosmo called it. “Dad wouldn’t have recognized it.”

  After RICO, Joey and Cosmo’s father Carmine Auditore went back to his old New York neighborhood to start over. But the going was tough. Between the new Mayor Rudy Giuliani and the RICO-fueled feds, organizing crime in New York was impossible. Joey’s father saw the writing on the wall, but no one listened to him. His buddies started calling him Chicken Little and ignored his intuition.